


Count on it

by yallbitter



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jonny d'Ville and Nastya Rasputina are Siblings, Protective Jonny d'Ville, Reminiscing, theyre a family your honour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallbitter/pseuds/yallbitter
Summary: He didn’t like to think about who he was before he became Jonny d’Ville.As far as he was concerned, Jonathan William Vangelis was dead and buried, any evidence of his existence burnt away or shot down soon after he…. Passed on.
Relationships: Dr Carmilla & The Mechanisms Ensemble, The Mechanisms Ensemble & The Mechanisms Ensemble
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Count on it

He didn’t like to think about who he was before he became Jonny d’Ville.

As far as he was concerned, Jonathan William Vangelis was dead and buried, any evidence of his existence burnt away or shot down soon after he…. Passed on.

The crew knew, of course. They all knew each other’s pasts, every tragic tale and sordid detail told in dramatic performances, or quiet nights, whispered and choked around tears and swollen throats.

Carmilla had known, of course, how could she not, but that had stopped being an issue after her terribly unfortunate accident with that faulty airlock, but anyone else knew only the bare bones of his tale, or a story he’d made up on the spot. Even the song he’d written was vague enough to leave people guessing. Exactly how he liked it.

People sometimes told him what they thought his tale was. He’d been an unfortunate waiter in a bar who accidentally fell in with mafia schemes, a soldier forgotten when the war ended, left to suffer his pains alone until he snapped, a gambler so far in debt that the only way to pay it back was with his heart- the more outlandish, the better.

The truth? Jonny had been a scared kid. Scared of his father, scared of his older brother, scared of his own bloody shadow. Keeping count of the days, the years, the hours that passed like his life depended on it. Always counting something, whether it was money, or time, or the people who walked past the cloudy window. Taking care of the house while his father and brother were off gambling and drinking themselves to death. Jonny didn’t expect Jedidiah to outdrink their dad and die first, but he did, and there they were.

At 11, he was a good shot and a better target, ready to become the perfect punching bag for a grieving drunk.

_Stupid kid, can’t do anything right. You shoulda been there to help your brother._

Never mind that it had been his father slumped on the bar while Jed choked on his own vomit next to him.

Never mind that Jonny had been at home cooking something vaguely edible so that they couldn’t claim he was useless.

No, never mind any of that. _Jonny_ hadn’t been there to scoop puke out of his brothers mouth with his pudgy little kid fingers, so Jonny was the reason he died.

_Go get me another drink, boy._

_Get it yourself, you old bastard!_

A small rebellion, the first of many to come.

The beating wasn’t worth it, but he wore the bruises like medals and added his first tooth to what he didn’t know would become quite an extensive collection over the next 10 years.

* * *

At 14 he started making money the only way he knew how- stealing and gambling. He was good, better than his father or brother had ever been, and he rarely lost a game or got caught with his hand in a pocket. On a place like New Texas that was the sort of thing that made you powerful enemies, and even more powerful friends- For most people, anyway. All it made him was a little extra cash, and a convenient bank for his father to dip into whenever Jack came knocking after his debts.

_Hand it over, kid. Jack’s here._

_I don’t care, it’s mine._

_Give it here, you little shit!_

That had been his third broken rib, and his fourth tooth.

* * *

At 16, Jonny left. He couldn’t go far, not that he needed to. Just to the other side of town. He got a job, sweeping in the grocery store, and for a few weeks it was bliss. Then his father noticed and dragged himself down main street hollering for him. The grocer was a nice guy, but he wasn’t nice or stupid enough to piss off Billy Vangelis, so it was bye bye job, and bye bye bliss.

_JONATHAN VANGELIS! GET OUT HERE, YOU USELESS BASTARD OR I’LL BEAT YOU BLACK AND BLUE!_

_Jonny, I-_

_I know. Thanks for havin’ me, Charlie. See you round._

He knew he'd get a beating whether he went willingly or not, so he counted each hit as it landed. He got to seven before he blacked out.

* * *

At 20, he finally had enough and went to the only place he knew his father couldn’t do anything. One eyed Jack was as powerful as he was mean, and Billy had been in debt to him for as long as Jonny could remember. If he went to Jack and asked to help pay off his father’s debt by working full time, there was nothing Billy could do. If Jonny was really lucky, the bastard would die before the debt was paid and he could use the extra money to get off this damned rock.

_Welcome to the house, my boy, come in, sit, have a cigar. I hear that you're a dab hand at the cards._

_I like to think so._

_I suppose you’re here about your father, then? Haven’t heard from Billy in a while._

_Yes, I am._

He stopped counting his injuries, and started counting the bodies he left in his wake. 

* * *

At 23, Jonny stared down his father as he died on the floor, smoking gun in his hand. There was the sound of heeled footsteps on the floorboard behind him, and Jonny was shot through the heart before he could turn around.

_You’ll do nicely. You’re a good kid, Jonny. But you’ll be a better man once I’ve finished my procedure._

When he opened his eyes and saw the damage, he started counting again. Every new scar he found was added, and every bruise, scrape or accidental electrical shock from his chest made the number higher.

* * *

At 536, he once again stood over someone as they died by his hand. He found a savage pleasure in hitting the eject button and watching the doctor shoot into the galaxy. He hoped her death hurt her as much as she’d hurt him over the years. As much as she’d hurt them all.

_Jonny! What have you done?_

_She’s gone, Nas. I got rid of her, and now we’re free. Free, Nastya! We haven’t been free since Carmilla pumped us full of metal._

_You don’t really think she won’t survive that? When she gets back on board-_

_I’m not gonna let her back on board. I’m gonna get Brian to take us to the furthest fucking star system we can think of, and I’m gonna pop a few people’s heads._

He kept count of exactly how many 'a few' turned out to be.

* * *

At 900, Jonny finally lost count. It didn’t matter though, because he had a family now. He was loved, and he loved in return. As he lay in a heap with Tim, Brian, Ashes and the rest of them, his family, his friends, the people he’d chosen to care about, Jonny d’Ville found peace.


End file.
